


Dependency

by Echovous



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Corpse Desecration, Empurata, Gen, Illegal Activities, Injections, Medical Procedures, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Sexual Kink, Past Body Modification, Power Imbalance, Pre-War, Strangulation, syringes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echovous/pseuds/Echovous
Summary: While working in his lab beneath the Pits of Kaon, Shockwave receives a routine visitor.
Kudos: 18





	Dependency

**Author's Note:**

> I feel as though this fic may be a little iffy with general consent. Shockwave doesn’t have emotional reactions to what’s being said or done because he doesn’t really have a choice. This doesn’t make it okay.
> 
> I didn’t end up tagging non-con anything, but if anyone feels like it’s needed or I’m missing a tag, then I’ll add it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Low on energy, Shockwave stumbled into his lab to find a pile of deactivated frames waiting for him.

_Good. They’d arrived..._

He approached the frames, mentally recording their features. He couldn’t be picky with his decisions. He was in desperate need of parts after 400 cycles of work had been confiscated. Supplies of any kind were exceedingly hard to come by.

Shockwave lowered himself over the first of many frames. His internal systems warned him against exerting himself as he heaved it onto a table. His fuel levels were nearing 6%. Still, he ignored the warnings, walking around the table to examine the mech from every angle. White and blue plating... No. Only white plating. The blue was all dried energon.

_That’s unfortunate..._

The white and blue color palette had instantly caught Shockwave’s optic. At first glance, he thought the deactivated mech had been Soundwave. An illogical assumption. Soundwave was a telepath. He never lost. A shame. For a moment Shockwave thought he’d get the chance to dissect his processor. 

_Another time..._

Shockwave stepped away from the table to get the cart of instruments, turning to roll it back to his workspace. He raised his arm to hover over the laser scalpel. He tried to grip the tool with his claws — not servos, like they should be — but claws. The inflexibility and lack of padding caused the laser scalpel to slip between blade-like digits. Shockwave patiently readjusted his claw around the tool and tried to lift it. The tool wasn’t far from the tray when it fell from his claw, clattering against the floor with a metallic resonation. 

Shockwave had no reaction to the noise, although something distant within himself wanted to scream in frustration. He didn’t. That would be an illogical response. An increase in volume wouldn’t return the tool to the tray. So instead, he pushed the thought of the laser scalpel to the back of his processor and located a saw. The handle was slightly wider than the armor-cutting tool which made it much easier to grip. 

He activated the saw, watching the serrated disk spin before he pressed it down to the unknown mech’s abdominal plating. The roughed-up armor screeched in protest but ultimately split under the saw’s pressure. Shockwave traced it up chest plates, bringing a claw up to spread them open as he cut. Then, just like he’d practiced many times before, he quickly and efficiently removed the mech’s spark chamber in three separate pieces. 

With the chamber removed, Shockwave turned to the metal slab he etched notes into with his claws to record. Metal slabs were not the most efficient note-taking methods. Datapads were far superior, but without his hands, he couldn’t use datapads. The sensors couldn’t pick up the cold metal no matter how hard he pressed. Another option was a direct note transfer, but once again, his lack of servos made it impossibly difficult to maneuver a cable into his port to transfer mental notes. So he was stuck scribbling ineligible glyphs into the surface.

Shockwave moved his clawed servo, starting on the next glyph. He was hardly paying attention when his security system pinged him that someone was at the door. He glanced up from his mess of glyphs to stare at the door with his singular optic.

“Shockwave,” an impatient voice accompanied by a knock sounded at the door.

He recognized the voice. It was that of Throttle, his assigned welfare officer. At least, that was his official assignment. Privately, Shockwave knew that Throttle was really sent from Iacon to make sure he was operating in his specified parameters. A logical assignment, but not any less of a careless hindrance of scientific progress...

“Open the door, Shockwave,” Throttle demanded. "Quickly."

He’d drowned out Throttle’s voice to focus on removing the evidence of frames from his lab. With his claws, he pulled the white frame off the table and to the floor, dragging it to the other frames.

Shockwave stood back, staring at them for a moment. He didn’t have the time or energy to move the frames to a hidden location. All he could do was throw an aluminum tarp over the pile, roll a few tables in front of it, then answer the mech pounding on the door.

Throttle’s navy plating, glistening with acid rain, flared out in anger. “It’s about time,” he snapped. “I don’t have to wait for you, you know. I can go back to Iacon and tell them you...” he trailed off, optics finding his stained claws. “That’s energon on your servos."

“A logical conclusion.”

“Why is it there,” Throttle asked, faceplates twitching like they always did when he was suspicious. 

“I am the gladiatorial surgeon. I operate every cycle,” he answered honestly, watching the way Throttle’s field flared at the mention of the Pits. 

Throttle scoffed. "I still can't believe we're just letting that illegal ring slide.” An optic roll. "Iacon would have a field day busting that joint. Put all of you where you belong."

Shockwave wanted to point out that 32% of all energon mines were located within Kaon’s borders and about 67% of all miners on Cybertron were of Kaonite descent. If Iacon were to arrest Pit attendees, there’d be no one left to do Iacon’s slave labor. Shockwave didn't say this, of course. He just remained where he stood, waiting patiently.

“Show me around,” Throttle scrolled down on his datapad. “Quickly.”

Shockwave compliantly led the mech through his lab. He took him to empty cabinets and tables, showing him the interiors of each. He even took Throttle into one of the back rooms without being prompted. Normally he wouldn’t, but his lab was still mostly empty from the enforcer raid. Plus, the back rooms took attention away from the aluminum tarp in the main room and what hid underneath it.

“What exactly have you been working on the last decacycle,” Throttle snapped when they returned to the main room.

“Nothing,” He responded. “I have no supplies to work with.” 

That wasn’t exactly true, but he couldn’t show anything. It would be taken and he would be imprisoned. _Iacon didn’t want him building anything larger than an energon heater._

“You have no supplies because you were illegally working on some _teleporter._ ”

“Ground bridge,” he corrected.

Throttle narrowed his optics at him. “Yes. A ‘ground bridge.’ Iacon took it because it’s dangerous.”

“My ground bridge was safe to transport Cybertronian life,” He argued.

“It doesn’t matter if the device itself was safe! You make it dangerous with everything you could do with it,” Throttle growled.

Shockwave’s antennae twitched. _"Could"_ was the keyword. Iacon had never actually _witnessed_ any of his experiments. They confiscated his projects on a simple hunch that he could do wrong with them. Illogical. Why hinder scientific progress without evidence?

“Honestly, I don’t even know why Iacon expends all these resources for you,” Throttle continued. “You’re not a senator anymore. They don’t need you for anything. You’re just a waste of my time!” He shook his datapad. “So tell me what you’ve been doing here.”

“I have been doing nothing.”

Throttle’s faceplates twitched. “Then what is that over there?” He extended an arm to push Shockwave out of the way.

He traced Throttle with his optic, watching him get closer and closer to the aluminum tarp. “That is a pile of broken furnishings,” he lied. “I do not possess the supplies to conduct research.”

Throttle continued towards the tarp. He started to pull away the tables that had been rolled in front of it, leaving the tarp —and the deactivated frames — unprotected. 

“Is a detailed search necessary before refueling?” Shockwave asked in a last resort. He knew exactly how to distract Throttle...

Throttle glared at him, his annoyed expression going blank. “What is your fuel level,” he demanded. “Quickly.”

“4%.”

A brief pause. “I can refuel you now,” Throttle stepped away from the aluminum tarp, digging through his subspace to pull out a large syringe, the search forgotten.

Throttle loaded the syringe, pulling out a cylinder-shaped energon container, then twisted it to attach to the syringe. Throttle reached for Shockwave’s arm, which had already been extended in preparation, and grabbed a tight hold. Throttle less than gently pulled back his armored plating on the inside of his elbow strut, optics immediately catching on the various puncture wounds scarring his protoform.

“...Have you been trying to refuel yourself?” Throttle asked, a sadistic smirk creeping to his lip plates.

Shockwave had. Having to be manually refueled by another mech through the use of an intra-energon line infusion was highly inefficient. If he could do it himself, these wellness checks wouldn’t have to last as long as they needed to.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Throttle said through his smirk as he slid his digits up into the seams in his armor. 

“It is inefficient.” 

“I’d think that it would be just as inefficient to cut yourself over and over like some lunatic,” he commented, leaning closer.

Throttle's digits slid along his seams, feining a clinical focus on his arm strut, but Shockwave had been through this procedure enough times to know that he wasn’t just adjusting his grip. Refueling him was Throttle’s favorite part of the wellness check. It was evident in Throttle’s field. He loved the power he held over him. He loved the thought of injecting him with the very energy that kept him functioning. He loved the fact that without him, Shockwave would starve slowly and deactivate in a cold heap of metal.

And what could he do about it? Bite the servo that fueled him? No...

The syringe was now pressing against a superficial energon line visible just beneath his protoform. Throttle leaned closer, almost pressing himself against Shockwave’s plating. As he moved in, he pierced the needle into his line slowly. Throttle glanced up at his optic, sending out his field to feel Shockwave's pain, but he wouldn't feel anything. Shockwave didn't have a field. The emotion protocols required to generate an EM field didn't exist in his coding anymore.

Unsatisfied, Throttle's optics flickered back to where the thick needle impaled his protoform. He brought his thumb up to press the plunger. Shockwave stiffened. The sensation of chilled, unheated energon flowed into his lines. He could feel the fluid as it made its journey to his main energon pump. 

Throttle was still smirking, plating warming ever so slightly. “A little cold,” he asked.

Shockwave reset his vocalizer before answering. “Yes.”

Throttle's field pulsed mockingly. “Aren't you used to this by now?”

After decacycles, it would almost make sense for his frame to be used to the invasive fueling, but for logical reasons, it hadn't adapted. Filling one’s tank to full and letting it drain to zero was highly damaging. His new, larger frame type could not handle the rate at which it was being forced to consume to function.

_They were killing him..._

"It must be frustrating," Throttle began. "To have to completely depend on another mech."

Shockwave ignored him, keeping his optic forward. At the edges of his vision, he could see Throttle's smirk replaced by a frown. Throttle was not happy with his lack of a response.

In one fluid motion, Throttle ripped the syringe from his arm, stepping away. Shockwave flinched at the sudden removal. He pressed the flat end of a claw against where the syringe was torn out as his systems pinged him of a leak.

“How much do you want this energon?” Throttle held the syringe out of reach, balanced on a single digit.

Shockwave quickly checked his systems. 38% fuel... Not even half... He glared at Throttle. “‘Want’ is the incorrect term. I need the energon if I am to function.”

A fuel level of 38% wouldn’t last a decacycle. He’d be in stasis-lock long before Throttle was assigned to return. _He needed that energon..._

“Yeah, you need it,” Throttle agreed. “But refueling isn’t something you can take care of alone. You have to want my help,” his smirk deepened. “It doesn’t seem like you want it that bad...”

Shockwave didn’t want to find out what ridiculous task Throttle would assign him. In fact, he shouldn’t have to perform like some mechanimal to receive fuel. He should have the right to it...

Just as he felt the distant thunderstorm of anticipation crackling through Throttle’s field, he decided for himself: he wasn’t going to perform. He was going to refuel himself like he should have been able to do all along. And considering the fact he was going to refuel himself, he no longer had the need for Throttle. 

Throttle’s intake opened in what was presumably supposed to be a command only for his faceplates to twist in horror. Shockwave had reached for the mech, grabbing him by the neck with his claws. The applied force combined with the small surface area of his claws created an unbearable pressure that made Throttle’s neck cables creak. He slammed Throttle against the back wall and continued to squeeze. Throttle was still moving and even though Shockwave’s claws ached from the strain, he didn’t stop.

Throttle continued to flail, fighting more desperately to stay online. The mech managed to lift the syringe and try to stab it at his optic, but he was losing strength fast. With the lack of cool air to his processor, Throttle would overheat and be forced into a reboot. He’d be left helpless... He could magnetize the mech to a lab table, rip open his frame to study his internal anatomy. He could keep his spark functioning and stuff it in a drone’s frame, forcing him to serve...

Throttle’s limp frame slipped from his claws and hit the floor with a vibrating clang.

Shockwave stared at Throttle for a moment. From a logical standpoint, Throttle wasn’t worth the effort of keeping him functioning. He’d be better off taking him apart to find what _was_ worth the effort.

Shockwave crouched beside Throttle and rolled him over so that his chest plates were pointed upwards. He glanced around himself, locating the laser scalpel that had slipped from his servos. 

_Perfect._

He pulled the laser scalpel closer with a claw and struggled for a moment to hold it in his claws. He would need the scalpel after he removed Throttle’s armor... Crushing the spark chamber was a mandatory first step...

He curled the edges of his claws beneath Throttle’s armor and pulled as hard as he could. The still-warm metal creaked before it gave. Shockwave tossed the armor aside and reached for another plate, removing that too. 

When the petals to Throttle’s spark chamber were exposed, Shockwave folded them open and looked inside. Throttle’s bright aquamarine spark pulsed with desperation, not knowing what was happening to its frame. Shockwave quickly relieved Throttle’s spark of its confusion. He reached inside, locking his claws about the chamber, and pierced through. 

Throttle’s frame twitched one last time before going lifeless. Shockwave waited another moment to make sure, even though he could see into the dark, sparkless chamber. Throttle was deactivated. It was time to prep him for harvest. There could be no evidence left behind when enforcers arrived to question him.

Shockwave stood, trying to pull his claws out of Throttle’s spark chamber, but they were stuck. Something inside had caught on them. Shockwave crouched back down, arranging himself for more leverage, and pulled. They were still stuck...

“I thought you were just the surgeon,” a voice sounded.

Shockwave snapped his helm around to find a large silver mech standing in the threshold of his lab. Megatron. The gladiator’s shoulder looked damaged. He was probably here for a simple repair only to walk in on a deactivation. 

Shockwave attempted to pull his claws out of Throttle’s spark chamber again, but they were still caught inside. He looked back to Megaton, waiting. What would the gladiator do? Would he tell someone? Surely he wouldn’t...

“Do you need help with that,” Megatron asked, his crimson optics scrutinizing him.

“No,” Shockwave answered, turning his optic back to Throttle. “I was given deactivated gladiator frames to work with. This is not what it looks like.”

Megatron huffed out an amused laugh. “I meant the claws,” he gestured. “Do you want help with those?”

Shockwave pulled on his claws, finding them still trapped in the spark chamber. “Yes,” he admitted. “I do need help.”

Megatron nodded and approached. He dropped down beside him then gripped his wrist struts with large servos. One at a time, he pulled them free from the chamber and released him.

Shockwave stood quickly, cautiously stepping away from the gladiator. “What are you here for?”

“Well... I was here to get a repair, but I’d rather my surgeon have actual servos.”

Shockwave nodded. He expected the gladiator to leave after that and find another surgeon, but to his surprise, he didn’t. Why? 

“Come,” Megatron prompted. “If you are to repair me, you will need servos.”


End file.
